Iceberg
by TeaNSympathy
Summary: Post-ep for The Boxer.


The shirt is perfect.  
Crisp white cotton with a delicate pinstripe in cornflower blue, it skims airily over her curves as though as though it had been made for her. It is absolutely something she would have chosen if she had a clothing budget more generous than the one she usually allows herself. The store is one that she enjoys window shopping in, although she never actually buys anything there.  
"Not bad" she concedes, smiling at her reflection in the mirror.  
She can tell from the grin tugging at the corners of his lips that she knows how pleased she is.  
"I thought it would work for tomorrow. That way we can sleep in a little bit and be rested for the game. Pretty sure it's going to be a late one."  
Of course. Of course he had realized that she always wears stripes on Red Sox days. For luck. She should be used to it by now, the way Roger Gunn notices everything, but it still takes her by surprise sometimes.  
"Good thinking" She walks across the bedroom to kiss him. "Thank you. Well-done."  
He pulls her in close for another kiss, his fingers sliding through her hair and caressing her scalp in the way she loves. The beep of a Skype notification suddenly bubbles forth from his phone and he pulls away.  
"Didn't realize it was almost 8! Do you mind if I..."  
"Of course. Go."  
He gives her a nod of thanks and heads for the study. She'd forgotten it was time for his weekly Skype date with his daughters. He'd invited her to join him, but she'd always demurred. It didn't feel right to her, and she wasn't sure that Maggie and Noelle would want to share their time with their father's...what? She wasn't sure. She hated "girlfriend". They were friends, sure, but she wasn't a girl and hadn't been in some time. "Partners" made her think unpleasantly of her days at the law firm. What was the word the kids used these days? Bae? She shudders in distaste. Definitely not bae. She didn't see, really, why they needed to be anything at all. Why they couldn't just be them.  
After changing out of the shirt and carefully returning it to its hanger, she goes to the kitchen and begins putting away the leftovers from the Chinese they'd had for dinner, dishing her lo mein and spring rolls and his steamed mixed vegetables into separate Tupperware containers.  
She hadn't pictured evenings like this, the first time they'd slept together. She'd thought it would be fun. She'd thought she hadn't had sex for a while and that it would be good for both of them to get their mutual attraction out of their systems. She'd thought it would run its course in a few months.  
She hadn't imagined that, all these months later, she would have learned to grill restaurants mercilessly about any possible shellfish contamination when ordering takeout because of Roger's allergy. She hadn't imagined that she would get to a point where she wouldn't even be embarrassed when she woke up in a panic after a nightmare about the swatting and allowed him to rub her back like a child until she could fall back asleep. She hadn't imagined her extra toothbrush next to his in the cup in the bathroom or the self- discipline it would take to not watch the next episode of Billions until they could watch together because it was their thing now and she would have felt too guilty. She hadn't imagined any of it - but there they were.  
Jill pours herself a glass of wine and takes it back to the living room, sinking gratefully into the couch with a sigh. It has been a long day and she is exhausted, physically and emotionally.

She was telling the truth about the subpoena. She'd rather he fought hard for what he believed in than that he alter his behavior in any way because of her. Of course she would. But she worries. The sick feeling in her stomach that never quite goes away when she thinks about them and work is still there. She worries about herself too, whether she is truly as unaffected by their personal relationship as she tries to be. On more than one night she's lain awake thinking about Julian Sarco. If she and Roger had been mere adversaries, if she hadn't been there the night of the swatting, would she have fought to get him to reduce the charges? Was it possible that Julian would be free now instead of in prison? She hated even thinking it, but it was an unavoidable concern.

If only he were two people. Roger Gunn, prosecutor, was someone she didn't mind working with, meeting with, fighting with. He is smart, dedicated, a worthy opponent. Roger Gunn, person, made her feel seen and heard and cared for in a way no one ever has, certainly not Cliff. Roger Gunn, person, is someone she is very close to falling in love with, if not already there. If only he were two people, everything would be perfect.

Everything is not perfect.

Even in her happiest moments the icy knot of worry in her stomach never truly warms. Because she doesn't see, really, how it can continue. They can't keep it secret forever. No matter how careful they are (and they are careful, always completely professional at work, only meeting when they are blocks away from the Mother Court) at some point someone will find out. No matter how careful they are, there's always the risk that one of them will slip and that an injustice will be done.

She feels as though they are on the Titanic and the iceberg is looming and, even aware of its presence, she can't figure out a way around it.

It's her magic trick, ignoring it. Hoping it'll somehow melt before it destroys everything.

Roger's latest book is sitting on the coffee table and she picks it up, hoping for a distraction.

Sad Animal Facts, by Brooke Barker

She opens the book to a random page and, next to a cartoon of a chubby sea otter, reads "Sea otters have favorite rocks that they carry with them everywhere."

She chuckles and, charmed, loses herself in the book until Roger emerges from the bedroom.

"Did you know that before spraying their enemies, skunks try to threaten them using dance?"

"I did, actually. Might be an interesting move to try out in court one of these days. "

He sinks onto the couch next to her, stealing a sip of her wine.

"Did you find out yet that squirrels need to chew constantly because their teeth never stop growing?"

"No! That's kind of unnerving. Good thing you're such a pro at outwitting them. How are the girls?"

He smiles.

"They're great. Noelle got second prize in the art competition and Maggie's got it narrowed down to ten schools, including NYC."

Maggie is a junior and her college search is in full swing.

"Well, that's a start. Is she still thinking about sports management as a career?"

"I think so. Although she does talk about physical therapy too. She's seventeen, who knows. I just want her to be happy." He sighs. "I just can't believe she's off to college next year."

Jill offers him another sip of wine and leans her head against his shoulder.

"What would you have been? If you weren't a lawyer? If you could be anything?"

He ponders for a moment.

"Hmm. Never really thought about it. First baseman for the Yankees, I think."

"Not an option!" she protests.

"Why not?"

"Because that's what I would choose! And baseball is ridiculously sexist so it's not an option for me!"

"Well, if anyone could talk the Yankees into hiring their first female player it would be you. But OK, your game your rules. I think I'd be a reporter."

She eyes him, considering.

"I could see that. Ferreting out corruption. Hounding people until they give you what you want."

"Exactly. You?"

She doesn't have to think long.

"Teacher. High school, probably."

He nods.

"That fits. Molding young minds. Making due with minimal funding."

She sighs.

"Summers off…although most of the teachers I know teach summer school and work multiple jobs to make ends meet. Still. It could have been a good life."

"Yeah…" he agrees. "Unfortunately, I've never wanted to be anything but a lawyer."

"Neither have I." It's true. Ever since her high-school debate days, she's wanted nothing else. They are both in their dream positions. They are both lucky.

A silence falls between them, both of them knowing that pursuing this line of conversation will likely lead to work talk.

He yawns.

"I'm going to shower and head to bed. You coming?"

"In a minute. I'm just going to finish this." She gestures toward the wine.

"Did you know that elephants only sleep two hours a night?"

"Lucky elephants. They must get a hell of a lot of work done."

She smiles affectionately as he leaves, thumbing through the book again.

"Jellyfish have no hearts" she reads, next to a cartoon pink jellyfish.

Life would be so much simpler if she were a jellyfish.

Jill closes the book and finishes her wine in one gulp, then heads towards the bedroom. She is overcome suddenly by a ravenous desire to feel his skin against hers, to lose herself in his taste and smell and the delicious solid reality of his body, to wrap herself in his warmth until she can forget the looming iceberg, forget that they are Roger the prosecutor and Jill the defender, forget that they are anybody but Roger and Jill. 


End file.
